


Collection

by Takigawa Aki (mukur0)



Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: Anthology, Multi, Random Short Pieces
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-14
Updated: 2016-11-13
Packaged: 2018-08-30 21:41:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8550109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mukur0/pseuds/Takigawa%20Aki
Summary: Each chapter is a different story. An anthology of various short pieces I've written for different KHR! characters and pairings over the last few years.





	1. DaeAla - Hands of God

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DaeAla. This is a really old one. MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH.

"A month or so."

You aren't the only one that this hurts, Daemon thought darkly. That gaunt face, icy eyes rheumy now and skin thin enough to show the ghostly image of his skeleton underneath. Look at that hair, dull, lifeless, flopped over a pale forehead and soaked with sweat. He could practically feel the heat of fever from there.

"Another month with this, Alaude."

Oh, it hurt too much to return his gaze when Alaude looked sideways at him. The eyes that should have been too sharp. "You've already aged so far," Daemon pleaded, gripping the rail of the bed until his knuckles went white. "You've lived enough. Why don't you just end this now?"

For a long time there was no answer, and he thought that perhaps there wouldn't be. Was he too tired to speak, or done with the argument? "I can't do it again," he finally said. His voice was hoarse. "After this, I don't get to age. I only have a little more life because of the consumption." A pause, as if he wouldn't continue, but suddenly he murmured so softly it was nearly inaudible: "Scarcity makes things precious."

Oh, how he itched to slap that face, but it was too weak, too soft, too fragile. How was he still so elegant? "There will be plenty of pain after you die," he spat. "There's nothing scarce about it. You're not living, you're dying. It's not worth it."

"Not giving up my last time," came the answer after several moments of infuriating silence. "I'm not you."

Flinch. "Obviously not," he muttered, glancing away. "You're better off that way."

It was decided.

Until he started coughing blood.

Great, hacking coughs, racking coughs, sounded like they'd break his ribs coughs, coughs that made his eyes water and tears roll down his cheeks. Coughs that spewed blood that was too dark until the handkerchief was soaked. Coughs that wouldn't let him sleep, that must have hurt until the next one began. Two weeks so far, and still weeks to go by the doctor's estimate. No no no.

He couldn't wait to see Alaude's healthy young face again. Couldn't wait to not see him so sick, so sad, so weak. Wrong, wrong, wrong. It was as if his body were trying to punish him for the immortality he would have soon.

Not soon enough.

Daemon's eyes lingered on the ring on Alaude's skeletal finger. It was only a placeholder, where the Vongola Cloud had been, because it was passed onto the third generation by now, and Alaude had explained that his finger had felt wrong without something there. Daemon had gotten him a nicer ring, a flame one, and that sat starkly violet against his emaciated knuckles.

"You're done, Alaude."

Eyelids flickered and watery eyes moved towards him. His expression didn't change, didn't waver. Alaude didn't move. His lips were a thin, pale line. Chapped, dry, peeling. "Wondered," he started to say, then paused with a loud cough into a handkerchief. Sounded like death warmed over. "…when you'd do it."

"You knew I would," he murmured with a long breath. "'S not worth it, Liebe. You'll be young and healthy again. Full of life."

"But dead." The words were a dull murmur. "No heart."

"Plenty of heart!" he retorted quickly. "No heavy, slow, fleshy bag of meat and bones to get sick and wounded. Whatever you want, it's yours. Cities to build and take down again! You are unbelievably French, meine Schatz." Too damn romantic. Wanted to hold onto everything. Life and death and yada yada! Even consumption was a poem! "Go to sleep."

That earned a small snort and a wry smile that cut into him with sudden ferocity. "Do it right," Alaude murmured. "If you're going to do it, you have to look me in the eye."

His breath shuddered out of his lungs as if he, too, were ill. Daemon's jaw gritted, clenching and working as he stared at the man who returned his look without a wink. "What, do you want it to hurt, too?" he demanded.

There was a pause, and he seemed to mull it over. "I didn't think of that. I do."

…No, damn it, this wasn't—

"Alright." He surprised himself with the evenness of his tone. "I'll make it hurt, Liebe. But I won't let you hurt long." Couldn't be something sweet like a pillow over his face, no, had to hurt. Damn it all. "Believe me, the transition to the ring hurts enough as it is."

The knife glittered in flickering candlelight. The sight of that sickening, churning, deathly leech jar out of the corner of his eye was all the encouragement he needed. "Besten Reisen, Schatz."

He kept his promise. It hurt. It hurt so badly that Alaude cried out, thrashed like an animal, squeezed his eyes shut as they leaked tears, but it didn't hurt for long. Not until it was over, anyway.

He wondered if Alaude would ever forgive him.


	2. DaeAla - A Thousand More

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DaeAla. Also very old.

It had been centuries since the clock had stopped its ticking.

Daemon looked at the face of the pocketwatch, at the faded spiderweb of paper that used to be a picture in its lid. No matter how he polished, the tarnish would not wear out of the metal. It tasted old when he pressed his lips against it and slid it back into his pocket. It wasn't a timepiece anymore, just a reminder of a clock that had stopped ticking a long time ago.

"Thousand years," he whispered, and was surprised at the sound of his own voice. Then he smiled wryly, wondering at how the dirt beneath his feet didn't shift at his steps. He was losing something, that he'd known for a long time; the reality of his illusion was crumbling bit by bit. But nothing lasted forever.

At least when he was weightless the crumbling building would not cave in on him. He lifted his head and looked at the vast ceiling of the cavernous room. In some places the dim sun peeked through the aged, broken plaster and rotted wood. The fresco was only a shadow of what it used to be. He thought he could see the yellow of the sun that used to shine in the middle of the ceiling; the dabs of sky swirling, circling the sun, reaching out to every corner of a dilapidated, forgotten throne room.

A ray of the real sun reached the dusty floor, tiles broken and faded. The desk in the middle of the room had rotted and stood lopsided, but something still glittered on it. With a sigh Daemon picked up the six rings and looked around with brows furrowed before he found the last, covered in dirt, where it had fallen a foot away. Slowly, carefully, he wiped each clean and pocketed them. The desk was useless now; a touch from even him would have it crumbling.

Carefully he pushed it aside, out of the ray of sunshine, and squinted up at the hole in the fresco above. It was ironic, he thought, or maybe divine, that it peeked through the center of the painted sun. Vaguely he wondered if Giotto knew about it, if he was still here. Perhaps he'd retreated into the ring, never to return, like the others. He knelt to arrange the rings in the pool of light, on the dusty floor, polishing their jewels as he did. Was it him, or had they faded, the brilliance of their gems?

Tears pricked the corners of his eyes. He'd thought he was done mourning a long time ago.

"Daemon."

There was a long pause before he turned. "I thought you'd left."

The dust didn't touch Alaude as he stepped through the debris. It was ethereal. They were more ghost than they'd ever been.

"I did for a while." For a long time they stood, looking down at the rings. Whenever darkness passed over them, it could have been a cloud or it could have been nightfall. Time didn't mean the same thing anymore.

Slowly he stood. "Why did you come back then?" he murmured softly, listening to the sigh of a draft as it passed through the corridors and into the room.

It was another long time before Alaude answered, and there was a tiredness beneath his eyes as he said, "You're alone here. Aren't you?"

He turned his head to look down one of the hallways. Darkness seemed to devour what had been golden and elegant. "I was the last one." Slowly he lowered his eyes to the rings again. The only twinkle was from two. "The others have died."

"Nothing survives being forgotten a thousand years." Alaude's whisper seemed to echo in Daemon's ears.

"I don't want to watch us fade." His voice cracked.

Alaude pulled his pocketwatch out and held it thoughtfully, looking at the lid with a distant expression. It was as tarnished as his own, Daemon thought with a pang of pain. Then it was tucked away again and their eyes met. He wondered if they were as faded as the jewels, or if it was just a shadow.

"That's the price we pay," he finally answered. "We can forget ourselves and fade quickly." He nodded at the dim rings. "Or we wait until the gems decide."

Daemon drew a slow breath. "It could be another thousand years."

The smile Alaude made was soft. "We've made it a thousand already. What's another?"

Despite himself he returned the smile and nodded. "You're right." And turned to look around at the grand throne room, that somewhere along the line had turned into a tomb. "We've been at the whims of fate this long." When Alaude laid a hand on his shoulder he thought he felt just a little bit of warmth, and that made his smile widen.

"No one's going to disturb this place," he said. "Including us. This place is for the dead."

"Does that mean we should take our rings with us?" Daemon asked, his lips pursed.

A hum. "No," he answered. "Eventually they'll all be dead."

He wasn't sure if the room had gone colder or they had. Finally he nodded. "Tomb fit for kings," he whispered.

"Isn't that what we were?"

With a wry chuckle he laid an arm around Alaude's waist and turned towards the broken stairs. "Really? I thought we were angels." He was thoughtful. "That would be poetic. Fallen angels."

"You're too dramatic." But Alaude's eyes had crinkled with pleasure. "It doesn't matter. We're ghosts now. I wonder if this is like growing old together."

Daemon blinked. "I like that," he murmured. "I guess it is."

With a smirk Alaude stepped out into the dim sunlight and he followed as they walked a path they no longer existed but was ingrained into their memories by youth. Together they turned back to look at the immense, broken mansion. He saw walls he remembered crumpled into rubble; golden, twinkling metal twisted and dark. Dirty. Nothing was clean. But that was what happened with age.

"Time isn't kind," Daemon whispered.

"Neither are we."

"Is this penance?"

Alaude turned to him curiously. "For?"

"For reaching too high." Daemon's expression was earnest. "For trying to make gods out of kings."

There was no answer. Instead he shook his head and pulled him back down the path that was as ghostly as they in their memories.

This was no place for them anymore.


	3. TYL KyokoTsuna - World Is Mine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TYL KyokoxHDWM!Tsuna. Old. MAJOR NSFW.

First they'd tried the penis extender.

Kyoko knew that it hurt Tsuna when he couldn't satisfy her no matter how hard he tried or what he used. Still, even the extender didn't do much but make her grimace when he rocked back and forth. It actually hurt a little bit, now.

"Take that off," she sighed, brows furrowing with concern as his face fell and he pulled back, reluctant. This guy just didn't seem to have it.

Next they'd tried the vibrator.

It had been okay, and she even managed to get a little wet when he rubbed it across her lips. His expression was hopeful as he looked up at her and she thought a moment, giving him a little nod. The sex still didn't feel good, even when he used his fingers to rub her in all the right places.

By now she was starting to figure out that the problem was in her head. She just didn't find it sexy to spread her legs and watch him pant after her, and she certainly wasn't going to be able to have a climax when she didn't even like him kissing her breasts and rolling his hips with as much grace as he could muster.

She knew it was a knock to his ego, and that made her feel horrible; but what was she supposed to do? She wasn't a very good actor, and besides, the idea of faking it for the rest of her life made her a little sick.

And so she turned to the one resource that every sexually challenged modern woman prizes: The Internet.

And she read. A lot.

By the time she was done, Tsuna was giving her worried looks when he got into bed beside her and she was still on the laptop. She wouldn't let him see what she was doing, and needless to say, he was considering the chance that she had turned elsewhere for satisfaction. She didn't blame him, the poor man. His puppy face was impossible to blame. So she dismissed his concerns with a kiss to the forehead and bade him a loving goodnight before she kept reading.

The first few days her spirits only fell at what she found. "The female orgasm relies on the female mind," one article said. "It is up to her to find her happy place." And she just couldn't find her happy place. "It can help to masturbate, to find a woman's favourite places, and then to tell her man what they are. She can fantasize for arousal and condition herself to enjoy sex," read another. And she tried that, a few times, but every time she thought of Tsuna kneeling over her and fucking her she could feel her arousal dipping back to nothing.

She started clicking ads. "How to give your woman orgasms!" The thought of some of what these sites said made her shudder. "How to make her shiver with your cock!" They'd already tried most of what was in those.

And then she clicked the wrong ad. Well, she said it was the wrong ad, but really, she'd been curious when she saw the whip and just convinced herself that she'd meant to click the ad about recipes just above it.

It was a sex shop, she figured out quickly enough. When she saw strapons, she thought it was the lesbian section and her mouse hovered over the cancel button until she blinked, frowning at the highlighted category. "Dominatrix."

...Dominatrix, huh?

With lips pursed she mulled over the idea, quickly realizing she really wasn't sure what that entailed, and a little worried at her own draw towards the concept. So what better than to Google it?

And watch videos.

And shop the sex toy shop again.

...And maybe, just maybe, buy something. At least Tsuna didn't handle the bank cards. She didn't want him to ask why "The Dominatrix Store" was on their credit statement.

He was going to find out anyway.

She rolled her shoulders, taking a deep breath as she stowed the box in the bedside table. She was already wet just thinking about it, and she felt a little guilty for that, but lots of people said it was perfectly okay so she didn't feel too bad. Tsuna would understand, right? He would probably even like it. After all, she'd always suspected that he was a little bit...on the fence.

"Tsuna!" she called lightly, nibbling her lip and perched on the edge of the bed. There was a pause before she heard his footsteps come up the hall and he poked his head in curiously, brows furrowed-it was the dazed look he had when doing paperwork, she realized, so all the better that she chose now to give him a break from that-and blinked, jaw slowly dropping.

For a while now she'd suspected that he'd held out the vain hope that she would wear lingerie for him, but he'd never broached the subject when their sex life was already so frustrating and unfulfilling for her. And if she was already shopping online, why not?

She could feel his gaze rake over her one inch at a time and she shifted a little, leaning back on her hands on the mattress, smiling shyly. The lace was soft enough that it didn't itch, as she'd worried. Actually, she felt pretty good in it.

As silly as he could be sometimes, his look was all man as he stepped into the room and closed the door gingerly behind him. "Wow," was the first thing he said, still a little surprised, his voice dropping to a husky tone that made her smile widen. Good; she'd worried that he wouldn't be a fan of lace. Then again, the description had said that no man could resist a babydoll and thong, and she was inclined to take it for its word.

"Is there...something special you wanted to try then?" he asked carefully, moving closer and seeming to pause just out of reach, waiting for her to give the go-ahead. She liked it when he was thoughtful like that.

"Sort of." She bit her lip. "I like it when you're...flaming."

Tsuna stood there blinking a moment and then he pulled his gloves from his pockets, looking at them thoughtfully. "You want to try with me in Hyper mode?"

"Yeah." Her smile was hopeful. "I do." This was probably classified as manipulative, but she just called it a plan.

He nodded slowly and put the gloves on. "Alright then." And he closed his eyes, took a deep breath...and opened them again.

If there was anything Tsuna was, she reflected, impotent was not one. She had to shiver at the sudden heat around him, even if it was more her mental reaction than real heat. And if she had to guess what was going through his mind right now, she could lay all her money on a bet that said it was something about pleasing Kyoko with his dying will.

Oddly enough, she _really_ liked that.

He leaned in to kiss her suddenly, baring her back to the bed with a little force, but she was a little struck by the gentleness in his hands despite the brute determination in his eyes. She liked the way he moved his lips against hers, tempted her to part them for his tongue, and she loved the moist heat of his mouth as it traveled over her neck and his hands, gloves and all, roamed over the lace and under the fabric that hung lightly around her stomach.

"Tsuna," she murmured, and when his lips continued over her collarbone she raised her voice. "Tsuna!"

He paused, glancing up at her questioningly. Kyoko had to wonder a little why she enjoyed the flat, fiery look in his eyes.

"I'm going to try something," she explained, pushing him lightly and rolling aside. His confusion was obvious but he didn't object, watching her intently. Actually, she had to imagine that moving much would be uncomfortable for him, if the bulge in his trousers was any indication. Wow.

Taking great care to keep her body between him and the nightstand and perfectly aware that he was growing ever more curious, she opened up the drawer and pulled out a small bottle of clear liquid and a fifteen centimeter dildo. It was hot pink.

When she turned around, there was confusion on Tsuna's face. "I thought you said the extender hurt."

"It did." She was biting her lip as she walked around the bed and paused behind him. "We're trying something else." Laying it on the coverlet, she reached around him and started to unbuckle his belt, earning a little twitch of surprise. He unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it off carelessly, letting it fall to the floor. "Just remember that this is to help me, right?"

Any sign of confusion fell away like another garment. This dying will thing was pretty useful. Maybe she'd use it next time she needed help cleaning the garage.

She was surprised by just how nervous she was, after days of planning this. It had taken three weeks for the box to arrive, too. But part of the nerves might have stemmed from the way her breath caught as she kissed her husband's back, enjoying the taut skin over his spine, and slowly pulled off his trousers and boxers. It was rare for her to see his ass, she realized suddenly, which was a shame, because he had a very nice ass.

Her thong slid off easily and pooled on the floor around her feet. She didn't realize she was biting her lip as she gingerly knelt on the mattress and slid the back of the toy between her legs, shuddering as it rubbed her in the right spot. Her lips were dry, so she licked them and swallowed hard.

His skin was pleasant beneath her hands, and he hadn't looked back at her yet. It felt like there was a little tension there as he waited, but she couldn't blame him for that.

Kyoko had rehearsed this a dozen times in her head, but she still fumbled with the bottle as she poured gel into her hand and rubbed them together to warm it up. It was a wonder she didn't spill it, she reflected vaguely as she pressed a finger against him. Had Tsuna ever used this part of him...? She was too shy to ask, and it struck her as a little funny that she could do this but couldn't bring herself to say that aloud.

A small sound of surprise made her pause. "This is for me, remember?"

And he quieted, shoulders visibly tense, but he didn't move away. She sighed in relief.

When her finger slipped inside him her face darkened to a shade of pink. Was this a little like what he felt when he was inside her? The tight, smooth warmth that enveloped just her finger was incredibly erotic. Slipping her finger in further, she was already more aroused than she'd ever been with him. A second finger and her chest had tightened, her breath hitching with desire. The lubricant was supposed to be warming, and by the way her hands tingled pleasantly and he had begun to pant, it was doing its job.

Was that enough? She hoped so, because she was quivering, impatient to get started, to move forward, urged on by the small moans he gave. The tips of her fingers searched carefully, recalling where _that spot_ should be...

He arched his back and gasped, clenching around her fingers. She almost drew back in surprise. There, then. Her breath had quickened almost as much as his when she shifted forward and pressed the tip of the dildo against him. He tensed; she stroked his hips slowly.

"Relax. It'll be better that way."

The husky edge in her own voice was both surprising and gratifying. He shivered a little beneath her hand, holding his hip steady as she used the other to slip the toy inside him. Slowly, she reminded herself, gently, no reason to be impatient. Take good care of him. She was hyperaware of the perk of her nipples beneath the lace, the scrape of fabric over them.

"Shh," she hummed, stroking his back as she sheathed the shaft a little deeper. What was that, three inches? He was panting again, hips raised, a pink blush all over his body now. She hadn't realized before how smooth his thighs were. Funny, she had to shave to be that nice.

Even if she couldn't feel it, the sight of the length pressing into Tsuna drove her wild. As she put pressure on it, it rubbed her just right, and she was aroused enough for it to be a good thing. His little whimpers sounded far more pleased than pained, and by the time he had six inches they were both breaking a sweat.

Slowly she pulled back and pressed forward again, coaxing him into taking more. It seemed like she was taking this too quickly, but he didn't seem to mind. Her fingernails scraped at his back as she started to rock, carefully, giving a moan of her own at the slow friction building up. Eight inches, and her hips were pressed against his, and it was all the way in, and it was warm, and he was warm, and it was wet on both ends now and Kyoko couldn't stop a whimper as she quickened her pace and started moving against him. She liked the soft slap of skin on skin now. The smooth, taut skin on his back reddened under her scratches.

A drop of sweat rolled down her back as he started to move with her, murmuring her name breathlessly. She was panting too hard to do the same. When she started to roll her hips, moving in a different motion, both gasped with pleasure. He clawed at the sheets; she clawed at his sides. "Kyoko!" he moaned, jerking back against her demandingly. She bent over him and wrapped a slender arm around his waist, pleased to find how aroused he was, just as much or more than when he entered her. He growled like an animal when she squeezed and tugged and moved her hand in time with her thrusts.

She'd had other tricks up her sleeve, hadn't expected to be so into this already, but she couldn't bring herself to stop and take her time. They could do more later; this was amazing as it was.

Her little whimpers had grown. The lace stretched across her breasts created a delicious heat between his back and her skin and her nipples sent little shocks of pleasure grinding more deeply into her when they rubbed him. There were spurts of resistance against her movement when he clamped down around the length, and it made the pressure between her legs all the better. "Tsuna," she murmured, whimpering, her knees trembling against the coverlet as she moved faster. "Ah..." Her breath came in gasps; she was too excited to notice that his did, too.

It hit her like a wave and she yelled softly, thrusting erratically, her hand squeezing him hard. It felt as though an inferno had opened in her belly and taken over the rest of her, making quick work of burning her to a cinder. Her muscles were turning into jelly when he yelped and came onto the sheets, bucking back against her and grinding, twitching in her hand. She shook as she pulled back and laid aside the toy, shivering with every movement, going dizzy as she collapsed onto her side.

That was amazing.

Tsuna had fallen onto his stomach, panting into a pillow as he closed his eyes. The flame on his forehead flickered and went out as though it had never been, and he was left flushed and bedraggled, red lines scored down his back. The sweat had to sting.

Slowly he opened an eye and looked at her, his gaze mild with exhaustion. "When you asked for Hyper mode," he muttered breathlessly, "that wasn't what I expected."

Her smile was lopsided, too innocent to possibly belong to a woman who'd just done...that. "You liked it."

His reply was a muffled grunt, maybe a little indignant, but he curled against her anyway, laying an arm around her. She ran fingers that were still unsteady through his hair. He was asleep in no time; she took a little longer.

After all, her mind was already wandering back to that website. Just how much could she get away with, again?


	4. 1869 TYL - The Dream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1869 TYL. No warnings.

_He's searching for me again_.

No movement existed but the serene way that zir hair floated in the water of zir tank, but that feeling had long been lost to insensitivity. All was numbness. Mukuro's eyelids fluttered, half-conscious, and fell still again.

Dreams were fickle things. In his bed, Kyouya was tossing and turning; Mukuro could sense it, a backdrop of discomfort and rustling sheets, buried beneath the sounds of clashing metal skewed like rotten meat. His dreams were always violent, always delightfully gruesome and tight with a current of angry energy somewhere under the surface. When that surface slowed and rose, clinging to the smooth, sinuous form of a predator hunting beneath, that was when his mind was troubled. All prey should already have been caught. The hunt's continuation into the night and into his dreams was a bane to his identity, his very existence.

Being that elusive prey wasn't as fulfilling as Mukuro had expected it to be. Then again, nothing could fulfill a corpse.

Within his dream Kyouya struck a wall made of stone only to watch it shatter into shards of glass that reflected a glimmer of concrete sky just a moment before the torrent of water it unleashed cascaded forward and crashed over the cringing figure. He was swept away, shredded by glass like bullets—Mukuro felt the steely grip of Kyouya's consciousness blinking over the scene, denying the nightmarish turn, and as though reset he stood again before the dam.

This time he looked up at it, shrewd, frustrated to see it continue out of sight into the sky, concrete fading into concrete.

 _He wants to break it anyway_.

The inherent logic of dreams was always interesting to behold. It always had meaning, usually beyond even the dreamer's ken. It was the depth of the human condition.

As before, Kyouya raised his weapon and smashed the grey glass. He closed his eyes and stood in the wave, rooted to the ground under its force, jacket ripped away but rest intact. The interference of his conscious mind taking a moment's control of the subconscious, an eerie link between the two that felt as unnatural to the dreamer as to Mukuro, watching from within. The mind that couldn't handle its own depths and had to deny their diving.

Ze had learned of necessity to do that, as well. Every time ze slept. _What lurked that deep?_

The wave settled. The water stilled, and he was beneath so much that looking up he saw only pinpricks of glittering glass reflecting the dirty light still above. He wasn't sure whether or not he could breathe, but it was of no matter. Movement was slow, hampered by a lazy current that felt heavier than water ought possibly to be.

The gaping hole that he'd created hung wide and dark before him. The blackness sank impenetrable, sapping the little light that had reached the ground. From a metre away Kyouya felt icy cold tendriling round his limbs, tickling his face. It was the pit of the unknown.

Just like every time he dreamed this dream, he squared his shoulders and stepped across the ruined wall. He froze. And he woke.

And as always, Mukuro couldn't wake. Somewhere deep in zir mind, ze smirked to see the world vanish away and to lurch back into zir own awareness and out of Kyouya's. _He keeps searching, but he'll never find me that way_.


	5. 10069 TYL - Rapture

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 10069 TYL. ABUSE MENTION.

_Hiss_. Silver wire bit into zir throat and his palm; a roaring dragon, woven into the metal cloth, pressed a deeper shape into soft skin. Mukuro swallowed against it and against Byakuran's hand, zir head back to look down zir nose at a glowering smile that made nasty promises.

"You don't regret the collar, do you?" he simpered sweetly, blinking for effect. "I imagine that by now it's scarred into your skin even if you cut it off. Marvelous craftsmanship, isn't it?"

Mukuro's lips pursed, paused, twitched as though ze might reply, and fell still again. He wasn't done.

"And despite how generously I went to the trouble of giving you something one of a kind, befitting of you, Mukuro-kun…" The glitter in his eyes was like falling stars. "Despite the time I took and that sort of devotion, you've been oddly reticent, haven't you? You aren't the type for regrets _now_."

Fingers began to dig into the sides of Mukuro's neck. Ze swallowed again, bracing zirself to lose air, but Byakuran's palm rested gently on zir windpipe.

"Now, I'm not the type for regrets, either, Mukuro-kun," Byakuran purred slyly, leaning in till ze could feel his breath on zir lip. Was that a tinge of pink in his cheeks? Excitement? "But you're making it difficult to be pleased with this arrangement, you know. How are you going to fix that?"

Zir turn to talk. For a moment ze waited, considering options—flippancy was tempting, but it might cost zir life, considering the smiling intensity inches away. Byakuran was wrong, for one; Mukuro regretted very many things in zir life, and this was something that might be added to the list. A master gave many benefits, but one so fickle as this offered just as many dangers. Perhaps ze had overestimated zir ability to warp a situation to zir advantage.

Moving slowly, testing the water, ze slid fingertips up the inside of Byakuran's wrist, gently extricated his hand from Mukuro's neck, and twined their fingers together with a wry smile that grew as cautiously as ze moved. "Are you saying I've been _bland_ , Byakuran? You wound me."

Smirk met smirk. The answering chuckle could be a good omen or a promise of torment. "Don't be coy. What are you going to do with this?"

In a great show of regard, ze pursed zir lips and hummed. The final stretch of another danger sprint. " _Oya_ , with a complaint such as that...shouldn't I be _surprising_ you? Making promises is too simple."

The game was on. The amused way that the corners of his eyes crinkled said that he knew exactly what Mukuro was doing, and that he thought it was cute. He'd probably expected zir to stall to begin with. Being the mouse was an uncomfortably familiar position.

"In that case…" Byakuran stroked the inside of Mukuro's hand, drawing back to stand straight and smile at the ceiling. "In that case, surprise me now, Mukuro-kun. I'm bored."

The finish line. Ze'd survived again.

Quirking lips in a wicked smile that came too easily, Mukuro reached for him. "Heaven forbid I bore you."

Heaven had nothing to do with it.

 


	6. Mukuro character study

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A warm-up during NaNo.

Sometimes the mundane was the most exciting.

Being able to step out of bed and know where the nightstand was, that was a novelty. To reach for the light without doubt was a rare satisfaction. Familiarity bred not contempt but safety; it soothed the soul, even as it dampened senses that ought to have been alert. It was dangerous, but it was essential to living. This was not survival, it was life. That was, in itself, remarkable.

To run zir fingers over the spines of books, new and old, and be familiar with every title on the shelves, that was peace. Knowing what novels laid behind these, without having to look, was in itself not only a luxury but a deep warmth in the back of zir mind. This had not been violated. This was home.

A cat on the balcony hissed as ze opened the glass door and jumped to the next railing before disappearing down to the ground. That was normal.

 _Normal_ was such an unusual concept.

With fresh bowls out for the strays—there was something else familiar, _strays_ ; Mukuro could relate to that—ze returned inside and listened to the air conditioner purr to life. The new, cold air was like a kiss.

Humility was sensual. Simplicity reigned supreme and perfect, with bare walls and based furniture; no television to deter the quiet, only a laptop on the coffee table. Life was complicated. This was rest. This was peace. The world fell away in the mornings, waking alone, with time at zir fingertips. The walls were a bunker to shield it from the uncertainty of the outside.

They didn't work on time itself. The past remained, as it always would. Shadows lurked in sleep and suspicion waited at the window. The outside continued on, did not pause, did not relent. It would not stop for rest nor recompense, like the wheel of _samsara_ that spun and spun and spun, and the judgment of Yama, that weighed and thought and cursed. There was no escape.

But there was quiet. There was the secondary safety of a warm bed and a refrigerator, a bath stocked with zir favourite oils, and a closet meant only for zir.

There was space to stand, and bend, and stretch. Ze could lie down, or sit, or contort zirself in fantastic ways with the soft sound of music playing for meditation. No one could interrupt the soul here, and that was the important part of home. It was the safety, however transparent it was.

  



End file.
